Hang On Who?
by Tara-Lynn Tam
Summary: People meeting Harry Potter stare for a reason. What's the story behind the staring? Rated Kplus  mostly because I'm paranoid and I feel like it.


A/N: So, I was kind of bored and I had been listening to the fifth book on CD and there was the part about Eric, the security guard and I was wondering 'what's it like for him to see Harry freakin' Potter standing there? What are his views on Harry's sanity and honesty? Does this affect them?' So then I wrote this and it might become a chapter story about random people who meet Harry. I don't know.

Title: Hang On…Who?

Eric the security guard wasn't too fond of his job. He had hoped in his youth to be a high-ranking member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, maybe an Auror or something. Apparently, though, it was his fate to sit behind this desk all day with his probity probe, waiting for visitors.

The visitors were rarely interesting. Every so often, some idiot would be trying to sneak something past the security desk and fail dismally, but all in all, his job was probably one of the dullest jobs in the Ministry. He didn't quit of course. Quitting his job would be foolish because it paid well and the hours weren't terrible. He had a wife and a grown-up son, and his wife couldn't work because…well, Eric wasn't sure why she couldn't work, but even if she could she probably wouldn't, so Eric had to provide a steady income.

This was not to say that his life was meaningless and dull. No, he had friends and sometimes went to parties. He loved his wife and visits from his son and his family were always fun. He would occasionally have a men's night out which usually involved a trip to the Leaky Cauldron for some firewhisky and talk. He also liked to keep up with the news, preferring the Daily Prophet as his news source. He knew that the Prophet sometimes printed falsehoods, but it was easy to use as a news source anyway. Of course, there was that summer when the Prophet started reporting that Harry Potter was either mad or a liar. Eric didn't really know what to believe about this. He had heard stories about Harry Potter before, and he had always imagined him as a heroic type of person. He couldn't see why Potter would make it all up, but then again, there didn't seem to be much evidence of You-Know-Who's return. So, as he sat behind the desk on August 12th reading the morning paper, he was deep in thought.

He did not appreciate being interrupted from his musings by Arthur Weasley. He had no problem with Arthur. They were on first name terms and he thought that the Weasleys were pretty decent people. He glanced at the skinny black-haired boy with Arthur, who he assumed was some friend of his. "I'm escorting a visitor," Arthur said casually, gesturing at the boy.

"Step over here," Eric said, bored already. He picked up the thin golden rod and passed up and down the boy's front and back, unable to help noticing that the boy looked unusually nervous and vaguely familiar. He passed over the thought though. It wasn't really his business after all. "Wand," he grunted, holding out his hand. He dropped it onto the strange device on the desk and read the slip of parchment that came out. "Eleven inches, phoenix feather core, been in use four years. That correct?"

"Yes," the boy said nervously.

Eager to get back to his paper and his thoughts, Eric stuck the piece of parchment on the brass spike and gave the boy his wand. "I keep this. You get this back." The old routine.

"Thank you." The boy was turning away as Eric glance at the badge attached to the front of his t-shirt. _Harry Potter, Disciplinary Hearing_. He automatically looked up at the boy's forehead and saw, hiding under his dark fringe, a scar shaped like a bolt of lightning. "Hang on…" he said slowly, but Arthur interrupted him.

"Thank you, Eric."

Eric watched as Harry Potter walked away. Well, he had a lot more to think about now. He sighed as he noticed another visitor walking towards him. _Well, now I really don't want to be interrupted,_ he thought as he picked up the probity probe again, grumpily.


End file.
